A/N: MINOR UPDATES 05/29/18
Hello! It's been a long while since I've fully read through this story, and I have to address two things. One, it's that this story is built upon tropes. I know that. The entire story follows the classic prompt of "tribute takes Katniss' place in the Games with Peeta," and therefore becomes the center of the trilogy. It's overdone, and I was on the path to include even more tropes that I have since removed, but I started this story back in 2013 and I don't want to change it now. However, looking back, the first few chapters are incredibly hard to read because of this, but like I said, I don't want to change it now. Second, it's that the first twelve or so chapters follow the first book almost to the T, which only reinforces the idea of shoving an OC into Katniss' story. I further reinforce this in response to a review in chapter 14, but I did that intentionally. The first few chapters of the book establish the world of the Hunger Games exceptionally well, and I wanted it to help establish mine. At the time, I was fourteen, and did not know how to appropriately write the first few scenes. HOWEVER, I in no way was or am intending to keep it this way. Starting in roughly chapter 13, it starts to branch away immensely. Lucy isn't in the same arena. She isn't the Girl on Fire. There WILL NOT be a love triangle. Even the climax of this story is going to be different than the first book, once I finally get to writing it. New characters will be introduced, one as soon as chapter 15. In short, yes, the first chapters of this do look like I've basically rewritten the first book, but I'm working hard to make sure that the rest of it won't be that way.
Another thing that I have to say is that I am SO thankful for everyone that has decided to take a chance on this story. Your support has been absolutely incredible, and I know I would have lost inspiration a long time ago if it weren't for you all. Thank you, and I'm sorry that I absolutely suck.
...
The two men in front of me shake hands. I sigh and find myself cursing the idiocy of the shorter, slightly fatter man. He thinks he has a good deal, but what he isn't aware of is that the first man- tall, skinny, a newfound gleam of triumph and hunger in his eyes- has just managed to con him out of enough food to last a month. What for? A measly sack of grain, barely enough for a week.
As the conman takes his prize, he eagerly sifts through the burlap sack, more than likely checking to make sure all the food is there. I feel my mouth watering at the large sacks, my stomach rumbling in anticipation. It has been a week since my last halfway decent meal, and that consisted of a small bowl of soup. My brother, barely twelve, got the bigger bowl. He needed it more than I did.
The second man smiles after the retreating form of the first. With a chubby hand, he reaches under the dirty countertop and pulls out an even bigger bag. He didn't have to open it for me to know that it was flour.
The tiny amount of coins in my pocket feel heavier. We were running low on flour, and I could only pray that there was enough of them for me to afford the sack.
"Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you would come, Ms. Farrington," the vender says when I approach. I scowl at him, causing his grin to widen.
"Shut it Damien," I mumble, sitting down on the rickety stool in front of him. His grin only frustrates me further.
"Not very nice language there, miss." He smiles, leaning against the counter with his elbows, too close for my liking. I lean back, just enough for him to get the message. He slides back a bit, but not much. It's the best I'll get.
"Risky move there with him," I comment, eyeing him closely.
The smile grows on his face into an ear-splitting grin. "Stale."
I feel myself laugh slightly. For Damien - a man with such little skill in fighting that a five year old could beat him - to give the man useless food is a dangerous move that most can't get away with. But somehow, Damien always sneaks away unharmed.
Throughout the black market, Damien was well known. Quick to scam and extremely sly, he wasn't one to mess with when it came to trading. He was stubborn, and knew just how to force someone out of everything they owned. I only fell for his tricks once, and it set me back on supplies for a week. From that point forward, I refused to fall for his tricks again. He's long since tried to con me out of anything, and now he's always my first stop when I come into town.
"One of these days," I begin, but the sentence slips away as an empty threat. My laugh dies along with it, and I slide out half of the money from the worn fabric of my pocket placing it just in front of his elbows. His thick face lights up in greed. His head lifts from his hands, a greasy hand moving to grab the coins, and I yank them back quickly, out of his reach. "Uh, uh," I say, and gesture to the bag of flour just to his right. "How much?"
His eyes slip over to the sack, then back to me. I shake my head, and he frowns. I was not having any funny business, especially today. "Five coins, at least."
My lips slide into a frown. That was all I had, and it took me weeks to gather just that. But, if I didn't take the offer, who knows when I would have the opportunity at such a large quantity of flour? As if sensing my acceptance, Damien holds out a hand for the money. I hand them over, albeit reluctantly, and he pushes the sack my way. I nod, taking it up in my arms. It's just as I am turning, when he nods back.
"Good luck," he murmurs after a few seconds. I pause, mid-step, and offer a small smile of thanks. Then I am off.
Typically on a day like this, most merchants would be closed, but the Hob remains bustling with activity. It is here where I sell most of the things I gather, and receive the rations that have kept my brother and I alive for the past six years.
Hunting has always been an option, but ever since I brought home the first rabbit I hunted, my brother had forced me not to kill what he called "defenseless animals" even if we were inches from death. For some reason I still listen to him, even though I'm now sixteen and he's twelve. The only thing left was to gather to local herbs, plants, berries – anything I could get my hands on, I gathered and sold.
When I finally reach the small, bony woman called Greasy Sae, she smiles. She easily takes my remaining herbs and settles a bowl of soup in front of me. "Eat," she orders, spotting my open mouth, ready to refuse the offer.
Merchants in the Hob always seemed to be nicer on the particular day, though I've no idea why. If they offer a teen food, then that same kid gets reaped into the Games, then they've wasted their supplies. People from this district never survive the Games.
I slowly spoon the mixture into my mouth and let it sit there. It isn't the best, but it's food, and food is taken at every opportunity. Greasy Sae fixes her eyes onto me, and she asks, "Nervous?"
She doesn't have to explain for me to know what she means. Today two more from our district will be sent into the Capitol's sick Games. I shrug, but the truth is, I have no reason to be. My brother's name is only entered once, so the chances of him getting picked are slim. Slim, but not impossible.
The only thing I'd need to worry about was my name getting drawn from the traditional glass bowls. If I were picked, there'd be no one to care for my brother. He'd die, just like my parents, and I'd be left alone.
The odds aren't exactly in my favor, though. Ever since I was old enough, I'd been signed up for tesserae. My name would be entered each year three times; the required, then one for both my brother and I. Add four years to it, and my name now shows up in the bowl fifteen times. It could be worse, but it's still not a good amount to have.
Greasy Sae remains silent. Halfway through the bowl I stop, then ask if I could possibly take the bowl home to my brother. She wordlessly passes me a rag to keep it warm.
I arrive home to find my brother struggling to fasten a pair of suspenders to his dress pants. His hands are shaking so badly that every time he goes to clip them on, he misses completely. I feel myself smile in the smallest of ways, suddenly reminded of my own first reaping. My hands had been shaking, too, and he had to help me get ready. It was time for me to return the favor.
"Here," I say, moving to fasten the clothing for him.
My brother, named Nathaniel after our grandfather, looks older than his age in this moment. His eyes are dark with worry, and I know it's not for himself. I'd refused when he said he'd wanted to sign up for tesserae like me. No, I know his worry is all directed towards me. After all, he's just as protective of me as I am for him.
He'd never known our father, but in the moment that he takes to look up to me, our father is all I can see. Same dark curly hair, striking grey eyes, even the dimple on his left cheek was like dad's.
Nate's lips tug up slightly. "Thanks."
I smile, a real, genuine smile that only Nate sees. It's enough to get him smiling fully. "I brought you some soup," I say, ruffling his hair. "It's on the table." He goes to eat, and I leave the room to bathe.
I typically don't make a big effort when it comes to things like this, but today I scrub off the layers of dirt and grime from my skin as well as my hair. I put on the only dress I own, which is a pale yellow color. When I exit the room, my hair is in a French braid that leads into a bun at the nape of my neck.
Nate is done with the soup when I find him. "You look pretty," he compliments, and I scrunch my nose.
"It feels weird," I say, and he laughs. Off in the distance, a bell rings, signaling that it's time to go to the Square. Nate's eyes are suddenly on me, his arms around me in a panicked way, and he's begging, begging for us not to go.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders tightly and kiss the top of his head. "Nate, you know we have to. We'll be alright, we'll come back tonight and everything will be exactly like it is now," I say, and his arms loosen. I press another kiss to his hairline. "We've got to go, though." He nods, face buried in my shirt, and finally lets go. We leave in silence.
The Square, usually a festive place, is grim. Peacekeepers lay around every corner, watching with cold eyes for anyone acting out of place. Family members, too old for the reaping, stand in their area around the perimeter, watch their children as they sign in and wait for the ceremony to begin. I can't help the twinge of longing I feel when I turn away.
Nate and I are two of the last ones to arrive, and we usually are. I take an open space by a patch of merchant's daughters. The Mayor has already began the everlasting story of the history of Panem, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort that can easily be spotted as from the Capitol, steps up to the podium after he finishes. In her annoyingly bright voice, she chirps, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair looks strangely crooked; as does the green suit she's wearing. I wonder what happened before we came.
And then the drawing is starting. "Ladies first!" Effie chirps, plunging a manicured hand deep into the bowl. My heart flies into my chest and I'm praying, praying it isn't me, please don't let it be me.
And it's not.
But I'm not prepared for the name that is called.
"Primrose Everdeen!"
...
Okay, so I know that this isn't exactly the most liked scenario, Peeta with an OC, but I went to see Catching Fire yesterday, and I couldn't help but wonder what the series would be like without Katniss as the lead character. I couldn't help but write it!
I hope you all enjoy the story, and I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes.. As well as the summary (I suck at writing them)
I'll only put this here in this chapter, so-
Anything you recognize as from any book in the series belongs to Suzanne Collins. I only own the Farrington family.
